


Peaceful places

by Songofpsalms297



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluffy, Gen, I really have a difficult time with titles, Just Cassandra really, Smidge angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 20:59:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12639060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songofpsalms297/pseuds/Songofpsalms297
Summary: Cassandra enjoys one of Varric's love notes in a quiet place.





	Peaceful places

**Author's Note:**

> It was helpfully brought to my attention that I'd mislabeled this fic as implied Doribul, while the story itself is essentially Cassandra's thoughts. I apologise. My headcannon is Dorian/Bull, Cass/Varric, and Cullen/Inquisitor.  
> I group the first two couples in stories so often that they go together like peanut butter and chocolate. 
> 
> Thank you for understanding, and reading.

Kicking off her boots, a contented sigh escapes as she settles her feet into the swiftly bubbling stream before her. The sweetly singing water imparts a measure of peace to her tormented soul. Maker knew she needed these escapes. Relaxing against the boulder behind her she battles the tension threatening to rise again as she pulls out the offending bit of parchment from her jerkin pocket. Her hands tremble as she fingers the ribbon which ties the pages closed. She could toss them into a fire, and deliver to the author of the note her rejection of his suit without ever having to say a word. Her fingers tighten around his question, and his promise. She's not sure she is ready to trust her heart to this fickle man. He is a known liar, and has had criminal dealings in his recent past. Not to mention confessing to a dubious, illicit relationship with a known married woman. Granted, said woman had left him at the altar, married his rival, and still could crick her finger and he would endure attempts on his life, just for a handful of stolen moments with her. Or had. If his latest drunken confession could be believed. Oh, and Maker take her foolish heart, she wanted to believe.

She allows herself the satiation of her curiosity, but cannot deceive herself, she needs to know what he has written to her this time. How he will plead his case, arguing against the better demons of her self-protection, insisting he will not betray what she chooses to yield into his care.  A tear escapes, running freely down her cheek to attempt a smear of the ink, but deftly, she shifts his words, so they remain dry, and clear. He is loyal to a fault. She knows this. The Hawke debacle has illuminated this point to her quite clearly, thank you, she does not need to examine his faithfulness to the Inquisition. That is just an unnecessary proof on top of definitive proof. She can trust him with her heart. She is more afraid of the harm her caustic words might do to his.

Unrolling the pages, a slow blush rolls up from her chest to cover her face by the time she is done. She cannot smother the giggle before it can escape. This was the real reason why she waited to be away from camp before reading his notes. She knew he would write something that would make her swoon, giggle like a school girl, or tempt her to consider things other than a quiet walk around Skyhold’s battlements holding hands. Of course, part of her also was waiting for the note which would declare the whole affair a farce, a bet he had won.  And she knew she would not recover from such a betrayal of her trust. She clasps his words to her chest, savoring the idea that all this is genuine and true. Reveling in the emotions his words have stirred within her breast. He has given her no indications that his affections are in any way duplicitous. It is her own skittish heart which searches for ulterior motives where there has never been any evidence of them before.

Becoming aware of her posture she scoffs at herself. Maker take her for a fool, she was swooning over a handful of heartfelt words on a parchment! Oh, but she loves these notes he hides in her gear whenever she leaves for long missions. He will hide a note for every day she will be gone, and she will savor each one. She resists the desire to tear through all her gear to find and devour them all the first night of camp. She’d done that the first time she’d discovered what he’d done for her.

Her joy of discovery had prompted a delighted squeal which had brought Evie, Bull, and Maker save them all, Dorian to her tent gawping at her, with her lapful of notes tied in string.

She’d threatened each one with graphic, gratuituous depictions of the bodily harm she would gladly wreak upon them if they dared speak a word to any one else about Varric’s notes to her and her reaction to them. She’d read aloud the notes she deemed safe for the other’s consumption. Those for her eyes alone, she tucked into her tunic until she had been left alone. She enjoyed each and every one as if it were one of the finest Antivan, or Orlesian confections. Each one savored on their own merit. Since the first trip, Cassandra allowed herself the joy of discovering one per night. The last one read at the last camping spot just before she returned to Skyhold and the warmth of his eyes.

Checking the position of the sun, she groaned. Bundling her note in her jerkin again, she picked up her boots, and returned to camp. On the way, she gathered some elfroot and blood lotus, just so she would endure less teasing about the reason for her absence from camp.

 

 


End file.
